


Custard

by thehighwaywoman



Series: J2!Scrubs AU [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M, Scrubs - Freeform, eight years after the fact I'm still not sure, possibly a crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehighwaywoman/pseuds/thehighwaywoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared's a harried, hassled, frazzled, frustrated resident at Saint Francis of Immaculate Mercy General. Jensen's a cranky, bristly, snarky attending physician in serious denial. OR IS HE. Inspired by the mainlining of a "Scrubs" marathon while perving over J.D./Dr. Cox, and was entirely too much fun to write.</p><p>(First posted to LiveJournal on 8/6/08. I've been rewatching my way through Scrubs and got a great big ol' nostalgic hankering to archive these on AO3. Enjoy!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Custard

Residents never actually leave the hospital. To believe otherwise is a myth. Which means they sometimes go thirty-six, even forty-eight hours without sleep. If they think they're home, they're hallucinating. Take two aspirin and call yourself in the morning.

Thing is, when a guy doesn't get much sleep, he tends to do… not-so-bright things.

Which would be why Jared decided it'd be a great idea to lock himself in a supply closet with Dr. Ackles so the man would talk to him and maybe even listen to him for once.

Oops.

What? He's human. He's a resident. He makes mistakes.

***

The closet door locks behind them with a solid snick. Actually more of a ker-chunk with an added kick of ha-ha, sucker!

"Does this unlock from the inside?" Jared tries the latch.

"It used to, before you pissed Kane off."

Jensen's calm. Too calm. This is the kind of calm that presages --

Was that lightning striking? That distinctive rumble and flash of white heat… Jared sneaks a peek at Jensen. Nope, that was just the Wrath of God.

Or, you know, an attending physician who thinks he's God. On his bad days. On his good days, he's happy to be known best as…

Damn, his eyes. Green as Alpine meadows. Wait. That makes him sound like a dairy cow. Well, he did chew on a daisy or something yellow once. No, no, no, wrong mental image.

Fuck, Jensen's hot. Especially when he's this pissed off. His freckles stand out like little individual…

I was not going to say bacterium under the scope. Was not.

I've gotta get out more often.

Jared takes a moment to appreciate the irony that this revelation’s occurring while he's locked in a closet with Dr. Ackles. Who has the sexiest lips and the whitest teeth and oh dear God, if he crooked his pinky Jared would go to his knees and drain him dry.

"What are you looking at?"

Jared coughs. Swerve! Swerve! "Your tie."

"My tie." Jensen's not buying it.

"It's, um, it's a nice tie."

Jensen flips the tie up to check and gives Jared the Raised, Unimpressed, Sardonic Eyebrow of Doom over the plain navy blue cotton and damn it, he's still hotter than a tar roof on a Texas summer day.

"Do you want to explain to me what we're doing in here, Bigfoot?"

I started off wanting to have a civilized chat, but I've mostly forgotten about that now because I'd rather lick every inch of your body. I would even suck hospital custard off your toes if that was the only shot I had, and I know how long you've been on duty without changing your socks.

The custard might still taste worse.

Doesn't matter. I'd chow down, zero complaints, if it meant I got one minute of naked time with you.

An imaginary Chad, who lives in Jared's head and occasionally makes his way to these strange side trips he takes from reality, bangs his head against the stacks of blue-and-yellow bins of bandages and aspirin.

"I taught you better than this, man," Imaginary Chad laments. "It's not too late to pick up a taste for pussy, dude. I swear they don't have teeth. Life could be sunshine and roses and boobs, man, if you would get your hand out of your pants and quit dreaming the impossible Ackles Ass dream. Okay?"

"You're one to talk," Jared mutters. "Besides, would you bet your life on that?"

Imaginary Chad vanishes. Typical.

"Bet my life on what?" Jensen crosses his arms. "How about we bet one shift of free clinic duty for every second we're stuck in here without some goddamn answers? How about that? Tick-Tock, Jolly Orange Giant. Time's wasting. Well?"

Custard. Fuck. God hates me.

"Maybe someone out there will let us in?" Jared tries to smooth those ruffled feathers. "I mean, out?"

Jensen taps the door handle, once. The brushed chrome swings pathetically on its loosened hinge and falls. That noise is definitely along the lines of oh, shit. Which translates to thud if you're going to be pedantic about it.

Outside, the dulcet sounds of Kane's braying laugh and the swish of a mop sashay their way out of range, far away if Jared knows him.

Jensen regards the fallen handle with the calm, smooth tranquility that spells bloody mayhem in Jared's immediate future. "No, seriously. What'd you do to Kane this time? Tie his shoelaces together?"

"I did nothing to Kane! The guy has it in for me and I still don't know why."

"Maybe you put Mr. Bubble in his mop bucket," Jensen says, ignoring Jared's protest. "If you haven't, you should try it. He makes these crazy faces and then, you know, he tries to drown you in the dirty water. And you, Newbie? You'd come back and say 'please, sir, may I have another?'" Jensen slams the side of his fist to the door. "Hello! Doctor in here! I have patients out there who may or may not survive without me. So if anyone on staff with a key who values their assorted testicles or clitorises --"

"Wait. I thought it was clitorii."

Woosh.

Jared always kinda wondered, in that sick, the end of the world is nigh let me check the weather and see if it's raining fire yet kind of way, exactly how much it would take to make Jensen -- sorry, Dr. Ackles -- completely lose his shit.

He could have lived without finding out, actually.

"I have had it up to here with you, Padalecki." Jensen demonstrates by raising his hand three inches over his head, then slaps Jared's ear. "You annoy me with your incessant, makes-no-sense friendliness to anyone and everyone who crosses your path. You bug the shit out of me by merely breathing the same air and infecting it with your Pollyannaish good cheer. You make my life a living hell, and let me tell you, that's saying something considering that I was already shoveling shit for this satanic elephant menagerie long before you came around. What do you want from me?" Jensen steps back, gesturing at the supplies that crowd around them, judging Jared and finding him lacking. "What's the point of the grand gesture? Could you answer that question, at least?"

"I just wanted to talk to you," Jared mumbles. He tugs at the collar of the sleeveless shirt he wears under his favorite green scrubs.

"Brilliant. And you couldn't have asked to have this conversation in, say, my office?"

Don't say it. Don't say anything. You might still get out of here with your nuts still attached.

"No," Jared says instead of listening to himself, 'cause frankly he's starting to realize he gives himself really bad advice. "No, I couldn't have tried to talk to you in your office, and do you want to know why? The past three times I've scheduled a meeting, you never showed."

Jensen deals him a blank, too-innocent stare. "I was busy. Up to my elbows in trachea tubes."

"No kidding? Last time I asked, you said you were doing an emergency colonoscopy. And before that, you told me you'd been called in to test out the hospital's new masseuse, sorry, 'physical therapist'."

"Guess which time I was telling the truth, and you'll get a cookie." Jensen leans on the very-much-locked door and curls his lip at Jared. "Of course, that's what you want, isn't it? A pat on the head and a 'good boy? Who's a good boy?', and you'll light up like a Christmas tree. Sorry to break it to you, Bigfoot, but it doesn't work that way in the grown-up world. If you don't like it? Door's right here." He kicks it backwards. "Knock it down and go home."

"I'd have to get through you first," Jared says, and wow, that came out a little more Barry White than he'd intended.

Which could have been bad.

But.

He sees it. Teeny-tiny and if you don't know Jensen you would never ever notice it, BUT. When Jared takes a half-step toward him, his breathing falters. A miniscule hitch. Not even a gasp.

Yet it's coupled with a fractional widening of his eyes, and yes, yes, yes, a quick swallow.

"Custard," Jared says, his tongue dry.

"Excuse me?" Jensen tries to back up further. It doesn't exactly work, given the locked-ness of the door.

"Custard," Jared repeats, on the move. He's a big guy. Mostly, he hunches over and tries not to freak people out.

Sometimes though? He uses it.

He crowds Jensen tight to the door. Jensen licks his lips. Respiration's up, blood pressure's up, and the new sharpness of his spicy cologne bursts through Jared's senses like rocket fuel on a bonfire.

Jensen tries to flat-palm his chest. "What are you trying to do, prove a point? You're bigger than me. Should I be scared? Should we compare dick size now or --" He freezes.

"Maybe." Jared rests his forearms on the doors and his weight half on them, half on Jensen. Jensen's lower half.

His legs slide open sweet and easy for Jared to slip a knee through. Jared rides up, testing the rapids for rocks, and yeah.

"Doesn't mean anything," Jensen says. He's not really blinking. "Physiological reaction to flight-or-fight."

"So it's fight, flight, or fuck?" Jared cannot believe he's saying this. That he is opening his mouth without stumbling over single-syllable words and not just being honest with Dok-tor Ack-ells but telling the man, hands-on demonstration includes, exactly what "breathing the same air" does for him. He's had more cases of blue balls since he came to work at Immaculate Mercy than a… a… a place that makes blue balls.

He's horny. Give him a break.

Jensen tries to scoff. "In your dreams, Godzilla. You don't have the sack to --"

"Actually, I do." Jared rocks his hips against Jensen's, soft slow hard firm thrusts that even through boxers and rumpled scrubs slide their cocks together, and damn if Jensen's not harder than he is. "And you like it." He tries to think unsexy thoughts long enough to stave off Old Faithful. "You get off on it."

Jared needs to work on that whole self-destructiveness thing. Maybe later.

Jensen shivers. Once. "Dream on."

"Don't need to." Jared angles his head and touches Jensen's lips with each word. "Sleep's overrated."

"What do you hope to accomplish with this?" Jensen rallies to ask. Futilely, and they both know it. "A quick fuck, a notch on your bedpost? How about we don't and say we did? I'll deny you three times before dawn anyway, so --"

Jared groans. "What I want is for you to shut. the fuck. up. for once. And if this is what it takes --"

He stops. Jensen's closed his snarky, smartass, hate-me-because-it's-safer goddamn gorgeous mouth.

His eye color is almost a smoky agate. Dark. His lids are heavy and his cheeks are flushed.

"See?" Jared asks, near-breathless. "Quiet. It's not that hard. But this is. For you." He flexes his hips, lining his cock up next to Jensen's and stroking. "All day, seems like. Every day. I jerk off thinking about you riding me."

Jensen licks his perfect, perfect lips. Terrified. Turned-on. Outraged. Turned-on. There's a theme here.

Jared likes it.

"Let me go," Jensen says. "Right now. We'll walk out of this closet and pretend nothing ever happened. First one's free."

Jared considers that for precisely point-five seconds. "No," he says, and kisses Jensen hard, fast, rough, tasting a tang of blood when their teeth click together. It's terrible and rough and awkwardly angled.

It gets a hell of a lot better, fast, when Jensen groans into his mouth like a dying man and shoves his hands through Jared's hair to pull him closer.

And because by now he's either fired or on his way to really, really good sex, Jared figures why not and gets his hand down Jensen's pants, down the loose silk of his boxers -- huh, he'd have figured Jensen for a tighty-whitey guy -- and finally, thank fuck, around Jensen's cock, which hardens and jerks in Jared's grasp.

"I hate your hands," Jensen rasps. "Stupid, stupid giant hands and ridiculous fingers. You're a big, tall… crazy-haired… colossus. And your sister wears combat boots."

"That? That was weak. You're as desperate for it as I am, Jensen." Jared draws out the syllables, working that new croon he's got to practice. Jared runs his thumb over the slick head of Jensen's cock. Jensen bites back a groan. "Maybe more."

There. That's what Jared was angling for. A flare of challenge, a rising to the bait. Jensen's not Jensen if he isn't biting back. "You think so, huh?"

Jared thinks he's better at stifling his moan when Jensen jerks open the drawstring on his scrub pants and, no finesse at all, fists his cock.

Jensen stares down the loosened waist of Jared's pants. "Jesus Christ."

"Call me Jay," Jared suggests, and shuts Jensen's mouth with his own. He rides his fist up Jensen's cock, slicks it on the way down, and fondles Jensen's balls, drawn up so tight and so hard.

"You think you're -- oh, God -- pretty smart, huh?" Jensen scoffs, widening his stance to give Jared more room to work. "Fuck, fuck -- you think you can -- oh -- just lock me in a closet and have your wicked way with me and I'll roll over for you?"

"Seems to be working so far."

The thing about Jared is, he has a mouth. And (once again, according to Chad) he never knows when to stop using it.

The thing about Jared's mouth, though, is sometimes having an agile tongue works in his favor. He's on his knees and has his lips around Jensen's thick cock possibly even before Jensen knows what's coming, and score!

Jensen's sex-noises are infinitely preferable to his never-ending heaps of scorn. Jared sets about finding out which spots trigger which registers of groans and curses.

When he gropes Jensen's ass and uses one of his perfectly proportional fingers to breach Jensen dry to the first knuckle, Jensen calls him something that makes Jared, who has a freakin' cock in his mouth, blush, and he floods Jared's mouth. He can't swallow it all, trickles running from the corners of his lips and down his chin.

He works himself off while he's swallowing, totally not giving a damn right now that he's going to have a huge bulls-eye of a come-stain on his scrubs, because some things in life are one hundred percent worth it.

Jensen's rocking on his heels, and not as concerned with teeth as he should be when he knots his fist in Jared's collar and hauls him to his feet. He smacks Jared's hand out of the way, and even though his hand shakes with aftershocks, he's got a damn good grip on the situation.

"No one," he says between ragged breaths, shallow and fast, "gets the better of me," and he does this corkscrew thing with his palm that oh my God, "in my hospital." He drags Jared in by the collar and bites his lip. "Got that, Newbie?"

Jared comes all over Jensen's hand. That's good.

Jensen jacks him through it, past the point of too-sore, laughing in a way that could be considered demonic or sexy when Jared whines low in his throat, that's better.

When Jensen raises his come-splattered hand to his mouth and licks off a smear, it's so good that Jared's knees wobble.

"Thought so." Jensen wipes his hand on Jared's scrub shirt. "You ever try anything like that again and I'll kick your ass."

He will, too. Or he can try. Jared crowds Jensen to the door again just to prove his point.

Jensen kicks backwards, harder. The door flies open.

Nurses and phlebotomists stare, rapt and/or horrified, at Jared with his dick swinging in the breeze and Jensen fixing his scrubs. Jared tucks as fast as he can, but Sophia's evil gleam tells him they all got a look at the goods, boy howdy.

"You've still got a fuck of a lot to learn, Bigfoot," Jensen says, unreadable -- if you don't know him and don't get the meaning of the gleam in his eye. "Rounds in ten minutes. Don't be late or I'll have your ass for lunch." His grin is made of pure evil. "With custard."

Jared stands very, very still and gapes after Jensen.

"See you soon, kid," Jensen says, and turns his back.

One of those wrestling bells dings in Jared's head, complete with score-announcing ringmaster.

Round one to Jensen.

But you know what? That's okay. Residents never actually leave the hospital. To believe otherwise is a myth. He'll see Jensen again. Soon.

Which only leaves one question: what does he have to do to Kane to piss him off enough to lock them in a less roomy closet next time? Maybe the Mr. Bubble. 

_You know, that could actually work..._


End file.
